Fearless
by Kate-The-Great-And-Powerful
Summary: A recurring nightmare. A gleaming blade. A sunken forest. District Eleven's Arbor Seiler knows what fear is. And posing as the "Fearless Boy From Eleven" is harder than it looks, especially in the arena of the 15th annual Hunger Games.


**Hello, everyone! I am back with a second full-Games story based on (my other story) The Highlights! You don't have to read that one to understand it, don't worry (I'd love it if you checked it out sometime, though!) This is not the first story I've written because of a Highlights chapter, and it certainly won't be the last! I hope you all enjoy hearing about Arbor Seiler and the fifteenth annual Hunger Games. :)**

_"It's beautiful. I haven't seen forget-me-nots around here in a while." -Dahlia_

Chapter One

No one works on Reaping Day. The shops are closed, the streets are clear, and the fields are empty. It's a well-deserved break, for those in District Eleven who don't have to worry about going into the Hunger Games. As for those who do; well, we're holding our breath.

Despite the fact that today is meant to be a holiday, Dahlia has decided to drag me into the rain-dampened orchards. I don't know what she wants to show me here, but we're getting our best clothes muddy on the only day we ever have to wear them, so it must be important.

I'm not tremendously interested in the idea of going to the orchards today. I wanted to take the long way to the square, so we wouldn't even have to walk by. I see enough of this place already. Working here daily, even if it's just during the harvest, is enough to make you wholeheartedly sick of apples and pears.

"C'mon! Keep up, will you?" says Dahlia.

"I'm coming." I quicken my walking pace. "If we don't turn back soon, you know, we'll be late for the reaping." My best friend glances over her shoulder at me.

"So we haven't got much time!" She grabs my wrist. Now the two of us are running, and I still don't know why we're heading this way.

"There," she says suddenly, coming to a stop, "That's it." She points to the trunk of an apple tree, where a clump of little blue flowers is growing out from between the winding roots. Pretty, but a little unremarkable to be the purpose of this trip.

"You ran all this way to show me a weed?" I ask. Dahlia punches my arm.

"It's beautiful. I haven't seen forget-me-nots around here in a while."

"You mean scorpion grass," I say, and she shoots me a glare. "C'mon… We're just going to have to clean them up eventually."

"Whate—" Dahlia starts to shrug off my logic, but the shriek of the whistle interrupts her as it cuts through the orchards. She bends over and pulls up the flowers, along with a clump of wet dirt tangled in the roots. Then, she gives me a nod and takes off running, two words barely out of her mouth.

_Race ya._

"Hey!" I sprint after her, my shoes leaving prints in the soggy ground. Even with a decent head start between us, I can hear my friend laughing ahead of me.

We make it back in no time, but we pay the price for it. The cuffs of the only pair of dress pants I own are coated with dirt. Dahlia's good shoes, once shiny and black, have turned a dusty brown color. Well, it'll only matter if we're picked. And even though we take tesserae for our families, there are many kids in our district who sign up for practically fate-sealing amounts.

"Arbor!" Just as Dahlia and I are lining up to sign in, I hear someone call my name. My cousin, Teo, is jogging to catch up with us. Rhoda, as always, is close behind her brother. Both of my younger cousins came to live with us a few years ago, after their parents were killed in a fever outbreak. I may be an only child, but I care for my cousins as much as I would a little brother and sister.

"Excited for your last reaping?" Teo asks me.

"Yeah," I say, "I can't believe it's finally over."

"Almost," jokes Dahlia.

"Almost," I grin. The reaping puts every kid in the district through inconceivable amounts of stress. In fact, stress may not be a strong enough word for the sheer terror this process incites. I'm happy to be leaving it behind.

Although, there are a few down sides to being eighteen. Next year, Teo will have to take on the tesserae for our family. Admittedly, he's one of the bravest kids I know, but he's prone to making spur-of-the-moment decisions. Not that I didn't make my share of reckless choices in my early teenage years. But if Teo is going to take the tesserae next year, he'll need to learn to be more cautious, in case of a frighteningly possible worst-case scenario. He may be thirteen, but the reaping is always risky. And he won't have anyone there to protect him.

But with luck, no one will have to. In District Eleven, you can usually count on the kids with an overwhelming amount of tesserae to be picked.

The other drawback to reaping ineligibility: the fact that I could end up working in the orchards year-round. I can think of nothing worse than living out my days picking fruit for the Capitol. Except maybe a violent death in the arena—but that's not the point. I want to do something else with my life; something important. As soon as I can, I'll move into town and apply for a job there.

"Rhoda, why don't you go find your auntie and uncle?" Dahlia tells my little cousin. Rhoda's never been one for words, but her expression is uncertain. She doesn't want to get lost in the throng of people flocking to the square.

"It'll be okay. Just wait with them until the ceremony's over. We'll meet you by the bakery," I tell her. The bakery is one of my favorite places in the district, especially on Reaping Day. Every year we put aside a bit of our savings, so we can afford one little luxury. And after the reaping, we go and pick out a pastry to split between us.

Rhoda's face lights up. She nods and heads for the edge of the square. I scan the crowd, trying to keep track of her in the sea of bobbing heads, but my cousin is out of sight.

Dahlia, Teo and I sign in, and head into the roped-off area of the square. Teo wishes us luck as he goes to the back of the crowd, towards the thirteen-year-old section. Dahlia and I walk the other way. This year, our age group is nearest to the stage. We pick a place at the back of our group, so we don't have to stand too close to the speakers. It looks like another friend had the same idea.

"Hey, guys!" Roscoe looks a little too upbeat under the circumstances. He's definitely better off than we are, but it doesn't mean he has no chance of getting picked. Last year the female tribute was a skinny twelve-year-old with only two slips of paper in the reaping ball.

"Hi, Ross," says Dahlia.

"What happened to you both?" he asks, glancing down at our dirty shoes.

"We came through the orchards," I tell him.

"That makes sense."

"It's just our shoes, right?" Dahlia asks. She tugs at the hem of her dress, and starts to comb her fingers through her dark curls. Strange. She's never been self-conscious.

"You're fine. What's the fuss about?"

"If I'm picked, I don't want to be a mess," she says, "No one would sponsor me." She has it all planned out. Maybe I should have prepared myself as well.

"We'd sponsor you, Dolly," says Roscoe with a grin.

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me Ross." I recognize the beginning of a familiar disagreement, and try to tune out their quarreling.

Dahlia and Roscoe are the closest I've ever seen to polar opposites. Whatever Dahlia likes, Roscoe hates. If Roscoe has an thought, Dahlia thinks the opposite. Even their appearances are contrary. Dahlia has the dark hair, eyes and skin shared by most people in our district, myself included. Roscoe is blond-haired and blue-eyed. And about two feet taller. They don't fight about looks, though. It's more about opinions. Opinions on Eleven, on the work schedule in the orchards versus in town, even on the Hunger Games. I'd ask them to stop arguing, but it's all in fun. If it weren't, they wouldn't spend so much time together.

"How wonderful! We have such an audience this year!" I recognize the nails-on-a-chalkboard voice of our escort, Jocasta Chancery, as she begins her spiel on how thankful she is that we're all here. As if coming to the reaping is optional.

She always gushes about what an honor it is to return to Eleven, though it's no secret that she hates it here. The way she looks at this place, we know she can't wait to get back to the Capitol.

"Now, let's have a round of applause for District Eleven's very own representative, Mayor Varley!" As the mayor steps up to the microphone to give his speech, my mind starts to wander. After today, I'll be safe. Free. I wonder what it feels like, to have the burden of tribute eligibility taken off your shoulders.

I guess I'm about to find out.

"Let's begin with the ladies this year!" Jocasta beams at us as she reaches into the glass reaping ball. I shudder involuntarily; her teeth are inlaid with colorful gemstones. Even worse, they match the ones curling around her arms. The line of jewels stops at the nail of her index finger, which she uses to break the seal of the slip in her hands. I glance to my left as our escort clears her throat. Dahlia's eyes are closed.

"Glace Varley!" A murmur of confusion sweeps through the crowd. Onstage, the mayor has frozen in shock. Later on, his horror will be broadcasted to the entire nation, but for now, the cameras all focus on his daughter as she walks to the stage.

To be honest, I'm not devastated that she's been picked. Glace Varley goes to my school. She's a few years younger than me, so I don't see her too often. But when I do, I never see her treat anyone with much respect. Not to say that she deserved this. No one does. But better her than Dahlia.

"Hello, Glace! You can stand right over here. Now," Jocasta returns to addressing the audience, "to pick the lucky boy who will accompany Miss Glace!"

Roscoe has lost his composure completely. It's not hard to guess what he's thinking. If someone with as high a status as the mayor's daughter can be picked, there's nothing to stop them from choosing the tailor's kid to go into the Games.

"Don't worry about it," I say, rolling my eyes, "You're an only child and you don't take tesserae. You have, what, seven slips of paper with your name on it? You'll be fine."

"Glace had five," Roscoe points out.

"Doesn't matter. I'm telling you, you're going to be—"

"Arbor Seiler!"

"—okay." The last choked word comes out as I catch my breath. She chose my name.

My mind goes blank. I can't think. I can't breathe. I take the first few steps into the aisle. Unconscious of my surroundings or situation, I concentrate numbly on keeping a steady pace, not wobbling or shuffling my feet. My muddy shoes, and the streaks of dirt on the cuffs of my dress pants, slowly fade into my awareness. And that's when I hear it.

"I volunteer!" The familiar voice sends me back to my senses in an instant. I stop in my tracks. Teo is running up from the thirteen-year-old section, a look of determination set into his features.

"Teo, no!" someone screams from the edge of the crowd. Rhoda.

"My name is Teosinte Seiler! I—" As he passes by, I reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him back before he can reach the stairs.

"What do you think you're doing?! Don't you—" What was meant to be a whisper comes out as a shout. I cut myself off, trying to lower my voice.

"I'm volunte—" Teo starts to tell me what I already know, but I cut him off.

"Go back to your section. _Now_." He stares at me, but I don't continue. One thought has filled my mind, repeating itself over and over again until it pulses against my eardrums.

_I will not let this happen._

"Oh! It looks like, well…Do we have a volunteer, boys?" asks Jocasta. I shake my head, letting go of Teo's sleeve and heading for the stairs.

I climb up to the stage and stand next to Glace without a word. Our escort gives a shrug and continues the ceremony. Teo doesn't move from the aisle until two Peacekeepers in bright white uniforms start to walk up from the back of the crowd.

"Shake hands, you two!" I take Glace's hand. She gives me a nod without meeting my eyes. It's too late to stop myself from wondering whether I'll have to kill her in the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present your tributes of the fifteenth Hunger Games, Glace Varley and Arbor Seiler! District Eleven, may the odds be ever in your favor!"

I look over my shoulder once as we're led into the Justice Building, and spot the apple orchards in the distance.

What I wouldn't give to be there now.

**I hope you enjoyed Arbor's POV! Please follow if you liked it, but above all, review! I would really appreciate feedback on this chapter! :) Thanks for reading!**


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